2017年08月25日

Fisher had already been embarrassed once when his entire team had crapped out. Now, thanks tohis own mistake, he found himself in the spotlight of a nationally televised Battle of the Sexes that,quite likely, he was going to lose. Ann’s best time at Leadville two years before was only thirtyminutes behind Victoriano’s 20:03, and she’d improved phenomenally since then. Look at WesternStates; she’d gotten ninety minutes faster in the space of just one year. There was no telling whatshe’d do when she came roaring into Leadville with a score to settle.

Plus, Ann was holding all the aces: Victoriano and Cerrildo weren’t coming back this year (theyhad corn to plant and had no time for another fun run), so Fisher had lost his two best racers.

Ann had won Leadville twice before, so unlike whatever newcomers Fisher had drafted, she hadthe huge advantage of knowing every bewildering twist in the trail. Miss,and you could wander in the dark for miles before getting back on course.

Ann also acclimated effortlessly to high altitude, and knew better than anyone alive how to analyzeand attack the logistical problems of a one-hundred-mile footrace. At its essence, an ultra is abinary equation made up of hundreds of yes/no questions: Eat now or wait? Bomb down this hill,or throttle back and save the quads for the flats? Find out what is itching in your sock, or push on?

Extreme distance magnifies every problem (a blister becomes a blood-soaked sock, a declinedPowerBar becomes a woozy inability to follow trail markers), so all it takes is one wrong answerto ruin a race. But not for honor-student Ann; when it came to ultras, she always aced her quizzes.

In short: thumbs up to the Tarahumara for being amazing amateurs, but this time, they weremeeting the top pro in the business (literally; Ann was now a hired gun backed by Nike money).

The Tarahumara had their brief, shining moment as Leadville champions; now they were comingback as underdogs.